Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb - Lexi George Page 0,83
hair?”
Sassy tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “I . . . um . . . sort of got a perm.” Perm as in permanent. “Do you like it?”
“You look like the north end of a southbound mule. What’s next, a tube top and Daisy Dukes?”
Sassy stiffened. “I know you’re upset, Wesley, but there’s no need to be boorish.”
Wes raked his hand through his hair. “Damn straight I’m upset. What the hell am I supposed to think? You went missing—drove everybody nuts—and I find you shacked up with two men and a strange woman. I’m shocked, Sassy, to say the least.”
Grim growled. “Guard your tongue when you speak to the lady, upstart, or lose it.”
“Thank you, Grim. I can handle this.” Sassy laid a soothing hand on Wes’s arm. “I know it looks peculiar, but it’s not what you think. I had car trouble yesterday. Grim and Evan came to my rescue.”
Wes jerked away. “Fine. Say thank you and good-bye. We’re leaving.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. I’ve decided not to sell the mill. I’m staying in Hannah for a while.”
“What? Have you lost it? You don’t know diddly-squat about operating a timber mill.”
“I can learn. I have a degree in business and I’ve managed the gift shop since high school.”
“We’re getting married in less than three months. We have social engagements and a wedding to plan. Tell the buyer you’ve changed your mind and dump the mill.”
“I can’t do that. The buyer for the mill plans to modernize. This is a small town. People’s jobs are on the line.”
“Which is more important, our marriage or a bunch of hicks you don’t know?”
“You’re not being fair. I can do this. I know I can. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun? Of all the irresponsible, harebrained ideas—”
Wes stormed for the door.
“Wes, wait,” Sassy cried. “We need to talk.”
“I’m going to a hotel. Call me when you come to your senses.”
“But, Wes, there is no—”
“Are you coming with me, Ms. Holt?” Wes’s face was mottled with fury. “Or are you staying with the timber tycoon and her thugs?”
Dab tossed Sassy a startled glance and scurried after him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wednesday, daybreak
Grim materialized in the master bedroom. The house was dark and quiet, and Sassy was asleep. She was lying on her back, arms folded loosely around her head. She glowed softly in the shadows, pale and lovely as moonlight, an enchanted fae princess. He stepped closer to the bed, staring at her in bemusement. Her lashes were dark crescents against her cheeks and her rioting tresses fanned out on the pillow, a glorious tumble of softest gold. How could he have compared her warmth and vivacity to the cold beauty of the thralls and found her lacking?
He was a fool. So was that cockerel Wesley. He did not deserve her.
Do you refer to yourself or Wesley? Dell asked.
Yes.
You think her better off with that callow milksop? I do not like that one.
Grim clenched his hands. The thought of Sassy with Wesley, with any other male, filled him with rage. If Sassy were his . . .
But she was not.
Nor do I, Grim said, but he is her choice. We must respect that.
Though it would kill him. Though he would wander the empty spaces between the stars howling his rage and regret into the eternal blackness until he fell in battle with the djegrali.
Why, Grim, I am moved. The heart of a poet beats beneath your gruff exterior.
Heat prickled along the back of Grim’s neck and spread to his cheeks. He’d forgotten to break the link with the Provider.
He did so with alacrity and stepped closer, drawn to Sassy by a driving urge he did not understand and was helpless to resist. She murmured something in her sleep and stirred, her light floral scent filling his senses and making him dizzy with longing. As ever, his body responded to her nearness, especially his errant cock. He wanted to shuck his clothes and join her beneath the covers. He wanted to kiss her awake, to murmur his desire for her, his absolute, burning need, to trail his lips across her silken skin and memorize every delightful, womanly inch of her. And when she was soft and pliant in his arms, he wanted to slide between her firm thighs and enter her. The ride would be ecstasy for them both—he would make sure of that.
He shook himself from his reverie. The infernal female kept him confused and in a constant state of arousal, his feelings an unsettling welter of protectiveness, tenderness,